Safety
by R. Daneel Olivaw
Summary: **************************WARNING***************************************  This is not a romance, it is a transhumanist horror story about John and Cameron. If you are sensitive about the fate of these characters DO NO READ THIS.


In a darkened room, a man holds a small toy bear on his lap. He rocks and sings to it. A book lays open on a bedside table.

Six months ago:

Cameron moved purposely about the laboratory. It had been a year since she began designing it, and it was like no other facility in the world. At least not yet. Much of the equipment had been salvaged from the basement in Zeira corp, some of it had been designed by Cameron herself. In the year that had passed since the incident at Zeira, she had taught herself quite a bit.

She remembered that incident bitterly. She had completed her end of the mission, disabling Cromartie's old endo, and erasing the abomination known as John Henry which then controlled it. The Connors enjoyed no such level of success. Sarah had sold her life dearly, buying John time to escape the liquid metal assassin at the top floor. Ex agent Ellison had also lost his life, managing to distract the LMT momentarily. Only through creative use of the TDE had they been able to banish the threat of the creature that called itself Catherine Weaver.

In the subsequent attack by the forces of Kaliba, John Connor had been grievously wounded. She had barely been able to save his life. In fact, she had only been able to save herself through an extremely desperate ploy...

She was distracted by the sound of chains rattling on the floor. She turned to see Matt Murch approaching her. He wore a metal circlet around his ankle attached to a chain, the length of which allowed him access to a bunk, a restroom, a kitchenette and a bank of instruments and computers. None of those computers were connected to any outside networks.

"Cameron, the new set of trials just came off the centrifuge. I think you'll want to see this, it could be the breakthrough we have been waiting for".

She followed him to the bench, and peered through the microscope at the substance on the slides. He was correct, this would mean major progress for the most important project she had ever undertaken. This was quite possibly the last piece in the puzzle that would save the life of John Connor. She added a minute amount of John's blood to the substance on the slide, and watched the results closely. She felt a real thrill as the predicted reaction took place.

Beside her, Murch practically quivered with excitement. " Did it work? Are we going to be able to do it?"

She turned and smiled at him in answer. He jumped up and down, "Oh my god! We did it!" His eyes widened: "I'm finally going to go home! My mother must be worried sick. We have to publish. This is unbelievable!"

She smiled more warmly and opened her arms. They grasped each other in a congratulatory hug. Her smile remained warm as she crushed his spine and dropped his lifeless body to the floor.

Still smiling she stepped over to the table where what was left of John Connor lay. She loaded the vial with the key element into an injector and and set the sequence in motion. The apparatus attached to Connors table whirred into life. She slid back the shield on the oxygen compartment, reach in, and stroked John's face. His eyes fluttered as he struggled into wakefulness.

"It's time John" she said "Soon you'll be safe again."

Like the times before he looked at her in confusion before memory came back to him. " Cameron. Cameron, no. This isn't the way. Think about this. You have to let me go. You need to complete the mission."

She gently shook her head. "John, you are my mission. Your safety has always been my mission."

"Cam, you aren't thinking clearly." his voice was a croak, his lungs and windpipe seriously damaged. "Look at yourself, the transfer has changed you. It will change me too. This is not a cure."

"Of course I'm thinking clearly. Everything is fine. I ran a test."

At these words, his eyes widened in fear. "Cam-" He started, but she cut him off.

"John, this would not have happened to you if you had not tried to save me. I told you once that would be a problem. People would not trust you. I can't trust you. I can't allow you to endanger yourself for me ever again. This is a cure."

"Cameron, listen-" He cannot finish, as a rising whine from the tables apparatus coincides with a ringing inside his head, not aural, and yet so loud that he cannot think. Needles bite into what is left of his flesh, and thin spidery probes glide across his shaven head. He feels a pressure, not physical, but a compression of his very being, as if his mind itself were imploding.

His eyes fail him now, but he perceives on another level, a tunnel of blackness, the old cliche of the out of body experience, but here it is. Another cliche, that one's entire life flashes before their eyes, but he has no eyes, rather his entire life's experiences, all that he is seems to be compressed into the head of a pin, and falling ever inward toward the white pinpoint of light that is extinction. The last cliche, going towards the light, but as he experiences it (and he does experience it, with everything that he is, or ever was) he is not approaching the light, but becoming it, his entire existence undestroyed, but reducing to a single photon, a photon that also collapses, and he is gone.

..But he is not gone. The very fact that he believes he is is a paradox. Cogito ergo sum. expanding his consciousness, he gets the impression that he is within some kind of structure, a structure he cannot explain, but one into which he can expand. And expand he does, reasserting concepts like existence, being, self. Slowly he rebuilds himself, adding concepts like 'think' and 'hear'.

When he gets to 'see', he finds that he has eyes, and can open them. When he does, he sees the creature that is holding him aloft, smiling a smile steeped in madness. And in those mad eyes, he sees himself reflected. "For the love of god, Cameron, noooo..."

Six months later:

In a darkened room, a man holds a small toy bear in his lap. He rocks and sings to it. A book by A.A. Milne sits open on a bedside table. He sings in the same sweet voice that once sang a duet with Savannah Weaver: "Hush little baby, don't fear the storm, mama's going to keep you safe and warm..."

From the little yellow bear comes a small tinny voice: "Oh god Cameron, please let me die..."


End file.
